A New Normal
by AshlynDecia
Summary: Joce is living out her unremarkable life, until one day everything changes. Everything is shattered and she is thrown head first into a world of monsters, aliens, and self-discovery. Sam and Dean Winchester, Castiel and the Doctor accompany her. **Any feedback would be appreciated :) **
1. A Chance Meeting

_Hi all_

 _I know that this fic has been up a while but I want to rework it up a little based on any feedback you would love to get me. I have some big ideas I would love to play out but I want it to be yours as much as mine._

 _Enjoy and I look foward to your feebdack!_

* * *

A swirl of colors surrounded me as I strolled down the street. People swathed in scarves and pants and coats rushing through the world, oblivious to anything beyond the two feet around them. I hustled carefully to a low rough stone wall near the bus stop. Perched on the cold rock, I waited for the silver rattling bus to come down the street. In the meantime, I gazed around me, noticing things no one else does and the things people wish no one else did.

The cold seeped through the threads of my knitted gloves so I rubbed my hands together to warm them up. The smell of strong coffee and sweet pastry rolled through the door behind me as the door to the corner coffee shop jingled open. Two strangers strolled out carrying tall white cups pouring steam into the brisk fall air. One was tall with a mane of dark hair and the other had eyes that were never still, constantly watching the comings and goings on the street. They headed towards an old Impala and slid into the seats. A few seconds later the old muscle car roared to life and slowly rolled down the road towards the river docks.

The exhaust plumed into the air as I watched them go down the street. Cars like that didn't often come through this town - especially on a Tuesday. I wondered about where the car was headed and what the man with the restless eyes was looking for. In the midst of my wondering, I heard the familiar grind of the bus pull around the corner. Rubbing my arms and walking towards the creaking metal doors, I thought fondly of the soft well-worn seats that smelled of old cleaning fluid and laundry soap.

* * *

Settled into my desk, a cup of strong tea nestled by my keyboard, I reached up to pull the string on my window shades. The cubicles were small and the smell of toner and white out underlay the whole floor, but at least there were a few closets shoved up against the stark glass windows. And I was tucked into one of those gray cloth and cardboard squares.

With enough space for a slim desk, my rickety rolling chair and a two drawer file cabinet, I spent hours of my days clicking and filing and faxing and sending and sorting. Ideas, numbers, information all from somewhere and going somewhere. But not from me and not for me. I often pictured myself as a wire threaded between huge hubs of popping, crackling information; although I touched both ends, I never peeked inside.

I never moved beyond these padded walls. I often wondered if I ever would. Not because I had dreams of a bigger box or more complicated paperwork or more stressful social situations. But because of the window, I would spend more of my day than my superiors would like watching the comings and goings of hundreds of lives across the street that passed under my second floor window. I would follow some until I lost sight of them and then my mind would follow the rest of the story.

Maybe the man in the sharp suit and lime green tie was a foreign ambassador visiting with important information striving to make critical connections for peace. Maybe the young girl carrying bags of groceries was headed to visit her mother on the other side of town; to share stories with her about her adventures on her own. Maybe…

Suddenly my eyes caught the face of some who snapped me back to reality. He was tall and thin with a sharp angular face and eyes that speak more than most people. His shaggy brown hair stuck out in a random yet appealing way. He was walking quickly clad in a long brown coat with black converses sticking out beneath them. The swish of his slim blue suit matched his swift pace as he hurried from one end of the street, where a blue box was nestled on the edge of an alley. It was shadowed but after years of watching that street I was sure I had never seen it before.

I found the man again, still wondering about that box. He was slowing down to watch a group of men clad in black walking briskly on the other side of the street. Although he watched them intently, there was something behind his face that was different, that was other. He was studying them but with caution and intention. He watched them as they turned the corner and then headed back on the path he had been following. He watched and observed and studied intently but unobtrusively.

It struck me that I had noticed two others like me today- people that watched and studied and wondered - but they hadn't seen me.

I sat on the same soapy smelling bus on the way home. The sky was already stained with different shades of purple and crimson and the brisk air was deepening to a stiff bite. I bundled my scarf around my face as I stepped off the bus into the darkening twilight. It was three more streets to my apartment. There weren't as many people out now, not as much to see but not as much to dodge either.

As I walked onto the last street before home, a sound I had heard earlier that day met my ears. To the left I looked and saw a dark car rolling slowly through the neighborhood. As they passed under a streetlight I noticed the same dark hair and as he turned, the same crystal green eyes of the man that never stopped seeking.

However, this time, he noticed me. As he caught my eyes, I quickly dropped them and sped towards home. But I noticed the sound of that old car turn the corner and come up the road behind me. My heart started hammering and my pace quickened. The speed of the car didn't change as it crept behind me through the streets.

Three doors down from my own building I pulled out my keys. Fingering through the cluster, I found my home key with a red rubber band fastened around the top. As I jiggled the other keys out of the way, I heard a new sound to the left of the street; a scrape and a rustle. It faded and then reappeared again, closer. Then again and faster this time. My eyes were glued to the dark wooden door with peeling green paint that led into my apartment building. Fumbling with anxiety and yarn clad fingers, I finally yanked the door open and slipped through, closing it sharply behind me. I flipped the two locks at once and continued on to my third floor apartment.

On the second floor, I heard it again, merely feet behind me. Fight or flight turned to fear and every part of me froze. Waiting for something but nothing good I couldn't move - I couldn't breath. How did it follow me? Is it following me? Is this just my imagination running down roads I didn't want to follow?

I heard it again, so close I could feel the air move just behind my left side.

"GET DOWN!" and I dropped like I had been shot. Not a moment too soon because seconds later a ricochet blasted through the narrow hallway. It connected with something inches to my left that disappeared in a puff of screaming gray smoke.

Laying there, breathing like I was drowning, two men hurtled toward me carrying sawed off shotguns and flasks. My fear turned to terror and pure panic. The room went dark as my mind fled consciousness.

* * *

I woke to the smell of stale alcohol and burning wood. Coughing, I reached my hand up to rub my nose. That is when I felt my knitted mittens scratch my skin and the last few hours came tumbling into my thoughts like cold water on dry stone. A wave of dizziness caused me to brace myself with my hands behind me as I tried to raise up. Feeling the thin woolen blanket over the hard padded mattress was not a reassuring feeling.

My vision finally cleared and my eyesight adjusted to the dimly lit room. I was alone in a small dirty room furnished with a bed, a peeling old night stand and a filthy, cracked window. There was a door that was halfway open and in the next room was a dingy fireplace where a small but hot fire was stoking. In the light of the fire I could see the outline of two men sitting in rickety wooden chairs, munching on pizza and drinking from long necked bottles.

The two men from the old Impala; I recognized the long haired man. I remembered the puff of smoke in the hallway and them flying towards me. Had they tried to kill me? I wasn't sure since they had warned me first but regardless, they had shot something. And that wasn't something I needed to investigate.

"Do you think she is poisoned?" a smooth voice rolled from the taller shaggier man.

"Nah, just shocked. Either way, that thing is probably coming for her again. Seems to be connected to her in some way. Best have a little chat when she wakes up," the other man spoke in a gravelly deep voice that lilted like the topic of conversation was one they had been over a thousand times.

Thing? Coming for her? Assuming I was the only her in that forlorn little hut, I felt that thrum of fear jolt again. But worse than before because I am not sure what to fear - or rather what not to fear. But I was trapped. I looked around and noticed another door off to the side behind where the men were sitting. Maybe I could slide out of my little room and through that door. I wasn't an athlete but I had a feeling that adrenaline would be enough of an ally right now.

Fearing the loss of my nerve, I shifted and carefully set my feet down . Soundlessly creeping toward the door, I tried to squeeze between the opening when my own clumsiness betrayed me. My boots caught on the edge of a frayed rug I hadn't seen in the shadows and I tumbled into the half open door causing it to slam into the wall of the bedroom.

The two men leaped to their feet, armed with those same guns, eyes wide and searching. When they land on me clinging to the old door trying my best to salvage any grace I had in the situation, they softened. The guns lowered swiftly and a sigh of relief visibly swept their faces.

"Geez! You almost got shot," the shorter deep voiced one snapped.

"Second time today then," and I realized it was the first I had spoken all that day. My voice came out softer and shakier than I would have liked and silently I chastised myself for it.

"Yeah sorry about that but to be fair we weren't shooting at you," the other chimed in. My look conveyed my doubt despite my face being outlined by heavy scarves. "Honestly, we were shooting at a ghost." I am not sure if that was supposed to explain the situation or add to my mixed feelings of terror and confusion.

"Ghost?" which came out much stronger and helped bolster my own confidence.

"A ghost. And a nasty one that seems to be pretty strong. We caught sight of it a few days ago and it took us a while to track it," the short haired one explained as he casually set the gun on the floor and picked up his long necked bottle. "We're guessing it is attached to an artifact - clothing, jewelry, a picture, something that is tying it here and seems to be, to you."

I took a few steps back to grope the wall. Solid. Real. Here. I breathed very deeply - mostly to keep from throwing up. Ghost? Attached to an artifact? I was trapped in a rickety old house with two armed lunatics who were prattling on about ghosts like they were teaching a science lesson.

"How are you feeling? You bumped your head pretty hard when you went down," the tall one asked as he stepped toward me. My entire body reflexively hunched back and he froze, extending his hands in a sign a of peace. It was then I noticed the dull pain in the back right of my head. Turning my head slightly; a sharp pain jolted through my neck and I sucked a deep breath in through my teeth.

"Those stitches will need to come out in a few weeks."

"Stitches?" I reached up to run my hand over a raised bump just below my hairline. It was sore but I could feel the lines of thread pressure. Dizziness threatened to take me down again so I pressed harder into the wall. "Why did you take me from the hospital?" I asked staring at the tall one still talking to me.

"Honey those ain't surgeon stitches. That is Winchester handiwork soaked in brandy. Best cure all you will find. Your welcome by the way." The tall one shot his partner a look that conveyed annoyance at his lecture.

"We took you to keep you safe and fixed you up ourselves. I'm Sam, by the way, and this is my brother Dean," he said stepping back toward his seat. "I know this seems like a lot but there is a ghost that seems to be haunting you. And your safest place is here with us." He held a bottle towards me. The entire time he had been talking, I had been edging toward the door. When he set the bottle on the table near him and turned back toward his own beverage, I made a break it.

"C'mon!" Dean shouted as they crash after me. I flew through a mowed-down cornfield heading nowhere but running for my life. I wasn't wrong about the adrenaline but the rest of my body was not complying. A stitch lit up my side as my breathing became a chore. That was when a gray flash flickered in front of me. My labored breathing caught in my throat as my foot caught in a rough corn husk. After I went face down in the brush, I scuttled up to my hands and knees as the gray-white flash blinked and appeared closer to me, right before it exploded again in a haze of white and gray, still screaming. Dean and Sam came up on either side of me, lifting me by my arms, Sam holding a gun that was still smoking.

"Smooth," Dean drawled while flicking those restless eyes around. I felt the flush rise up my neck and cover my face.

"See? Ghost," Sam stated matter-of-factly. I looked at their faces and see nothing - no fear, no surprise, no pity. Turning on my heel, my stomach emptied in the field behind me. Tears started to stream down my face. Dean awkwardly patted my back as I gripped my knees to steady my breathing.

Not sure what to believe or what I saw, my head is spinning. Trying to surface, I clung to this ridiculous conjecture because it was easier to believe than nothing.

"You can shoot a ghost?" I asked wiping my mouth on the back of my mitten and staring at the empty field.

"Rock salt rounds," Dean chimed as he waved the sawed off shotgun in the air. "Hunter's best friend."

"Weellll… I am not sure about ghosts but you can shoot a corporeum for sure," a snappy voice with a well phrased accent lilted out of the shadows at the edge of the forest twenty or so feet away. A figure swaggered into the clearing, hands tucked in pant pockets that were cloaked in a brown overcoat. Because this day wasn't already too much - the interesting man from the street would of course saunter into this scene.

Just as alarmed but much less amused, Sam and Dean flung the business end of their guns towards the stranger.

"Always with the guns. Why always with the guns?" he bemused slowly stretching his hands in front of him to show that he was unarmed. A small silver cylinder glinted from inside his jacket but the brothers didn't seem to notice.

"And who are you?" Dean barked.

"Doctor. The doctor if you like, Dean." The last word caused Dean's eyes to narrow in a way that would have made my skin crawl. The stranger wasn't finished; he half spun his body toward the other brother to add, "And Sam." Now both brothers stared at this aberration through some very hostile eyes. Then he looked at me so he could add, "And Joce." Good thing my stomach was already empty.

"How did you get here? We are seven miles from the town and I didn't hear a car," Sam questioned, stepping toward me protectively.

"You wouldn't have, would you? No car. Just the TARDIS. Though I am surprised you didn't hear her…" he finished lamely glancing back toward the tree line where I could see a square shape that was very similar to that blue box from the shadows in the alley.

"In case you missed it, we have been a little busy when a ghost here," Dean stated sarcastically.

"Corporeum," the Doctor corrected matter-of-factly. "Not ghost, corporeum although the two are remarkably similar given the traits."

Dean scrunched his eyebrows together as he cocked his head to the side.

"Corporeum, like your ghosts, can apparate and disapparate in puffs of smoke. They appear to travel through blinks in space. They react to lead, iron, salt, and quizzically garlic. They attach to articles of importance, something with a psychic imprint they can furrow into. Unlike your ghosts, they are not remnants. They are their own unique, original beings. Given, not beings native to this planet… or time for that matter which makes them all the more interesting. And also unlike your ghosts they are not vengeful or hostile in any way." During this speech he strolled in a short half circle around the three of us and on the last few words looked firmly up over his black rimmed glasses at the two men wielding weapons.

The brothers exchanged looks that oozed with doubt like smoke on the water.

"Right, doctor," Dean chimed. "And we are just supposed to take the word of a man that strolls out of thin air who isn't even American."

"Isn't even human, actually," the Doctor mumbled as he toed some of the husks in a nonchalant way. Color drained from the boys faces but I wasn't sure if that meant they believed him or thought him more cracked than before.

"Not human? What, alien like space ships?"

"Honestly, Sam with everything you have already been through is it really that hard to believe? I've got the knowledge. I've got the ship. Just because I don't have weird feelers doesn't make it any less true," he said looking imploringly, but still ever so arrogantly, at Sam.

"What do you know about what we have seen?" Dean asked, a nearly visible edge to his voice.

"Dean and Sam Winchester. Sons of Mary and John Winchester. Born and raised as hunters of things that go bump in the night. Bringers and saviors of the Judeo-Christian apocalypse. Most recently vessel of Gadreel," he said eyeing Sam "And bearer of the Hand of Heaven," and his eyes rested on Dean with notable pity, like there was so much more he needed to say.

Dean slowly raised the gun back toward this man who knew so much.

"Shoot me if you want. But I'm not gonna die. Alien, remember? Time Lord to be exact. We don't die. We regenerate. New package, same filling."

But Dean didn't lower the gun.

"How do you know this much?" Sam pried.

"Oh, forgot to mention. Space traveller - and time traveller. I have watched variations of your life play out and we will meet again in another time. But for now- we have a job."

No one moved. No one spoke. The only person who seemed to have their fabric of reality intact was the Doctor. The brothers and I were slowly watching pieces of what we believed crumble to dust. For me, basically everything was in smouldering heaps around my ankles. I wanted nothing more than to crawl in the warm embers of what was left of my life, sleep and then wake up at home in my pajamas with my alarm clock jarring me back to that reality.

I pressed my hand to the stitches that were sore thanks to my most recent fall. The pain was like a familiar illness. But it felt solid - real. Which meant this was solid- real. So I did something I had never done before. I stood up straight. I cleared my throat. And I spoke even though I wasn't sure what was going to come out.

"Job?" I questioned fraily. This question, though minuscule in the scheme of this bizarre show, was important. To me.


	2. Chapter 2

As I sat in the same dingy little hut close to the slowly ebbing fire, chewing lukewarm pizza covered in too much cheese, I thought about life. It was never what you expected. You could have your ducks in a row, i's dotted and t's crossed and there would always be more, be something different. Something that would alter your perception of nearly everything.

This was that day. I had watched and wondered and made stories of souls in the world for years while my own existence left no mark deeper than my small apartment. Yet here I sat in the company of an alien Time Lord, two brothers who had seen and done only God knows what, preparing to hunt something I hadn't even seen before.

I wasn't scared anymore. And that scared me a little bit.

"C'mon, Cas! I'm not kidding. Wing it down here man!" Dean paced, shouting at nothing.

Oh, right, there were angels too.

Suddenly a man in a light brown trench coat appeared out of thin air standing near Dean and looking serenely around the room like this was nothing unusual; until his eyes settled on the Doctor. Huge orbs of blue appeared as the shock and reverence dawned on Castiel's face.

"Time Lord. How… When…" the questions stumbled and stopped coming out of the angels mouth as he slowly stepped toward the slender man. The Doctor smiled slowly. Castiel's eyes continued to flick between the Time Lord and Dean.

"I take it you have heard of these Time Lords, then?" Dean asked, still looking doubtful.

"There is an old story in heaven. A convoy of Time Lords came so long ago. They watched as my father shaped this reality and the things contained within the dimensions. Then the cosmos burned and it took everything he had to protect what he could. When the fire ended, he wept. When asked why, he said a sacrifice was made to end what should have never begun. He never spoke of it again and no Time Lord was every seen again," Castiel spoke slowly and reverently as he stepped closer to this man.

"And there never will be again. The last and only," the Doctor stated sadly. You could see the tears well up in Cas's eyes as he looked into the sad face

"I am so so sorry," he added in his deep staccato voice. We all sat there in silence understanding and connecting to different pieces of that short tale. After what seemed like an age, the Doctor broke our reveries.

"Well, Castiel, or as Dean called you, Cas. I am so glad you could join us. We have some work to do. Seems that a corporeum has leaked, or been pulled, through the void into this time, attaching to something. It is terrified and weak. I don't know if we can save it but I intend to try."

I could practically hear the hairs flare on the brother's necks.

"Save it? How can you possibly want to save it? It is chasing this poor girl for no reason and if it is, like you said, from another space and time then it needs to not be as soon as we can make that happen," Dean said staring at the Doctor with a half turned head.

"It didn't choose to be here. It could have been sucked in through or ended up here on accident and it is trying to get home. It isn't chasing Joce - it has attached to something about her that is similar to something it was locked onto in its own time and place," he stated imploringly. The mention of my name snapped me closer to the surface of reality, reminding me of a few questions I had.

"Doctor? How do you know my name?" I asked softly staring straight at his face. I could understand his knowledge of the brothers - they seem to have a pretty notorious history. But I was unremarkable, unimportant.

"Jocelyn Arimetto. Daughter of Simon and Clarice Arimetto. Born in Boston, Massachusetts. Your story hasn't started yet but trust me, you will be fantastic!" He finished with a smile that lit up the room. And kindled a curiosity in me. My story was just beginning? I was a 32 year old cubicle worker living in Delaware. My parents had died 6 years ago and I had no other family. No skills beyond my imagination. Nothing. I was nothing. I would have told him he had the wrong person if he hadn't just prattled off my life history.

Castiel smiled a soft smile as he looked at me. My face flushed and I stared down at my now bare hands, suddenly very interested in my cuticles. I could barely maintain conversations with the lady at the grocery store checkout let alone comprehend an ancient, undying alien and Angel of Heaven looking at me like I was something special. Thankfully Sam seemed to sense my unease.

"But you said we had a job?" he asked, looking at the Doctor.

"Quite right," he popped, breaking his gaze from me and looking with authority around the room. "We are not hunting the corporeum but something is." He didn't elaborate but stared seriously around the cluster of people.

"And…" Dean prodded.

"That's all I know," and the serious stare broke as his body language changed to a more casual stance. "I realized a few days ago I wasn't the only things trailing the creature but I can't seem to pinpoint what is."

"So we know something is hunting this but we don't have any clue as to what?" Sam reiterated.

"Whatever it is, it has to be fairly powerful to avoid any identification on my end. But I can guarantee that they are after the corporeum. Its soul is out of place in time - makes it more powerful than the average soul. Nearly unlimited source of power. I am sure you can see the appeal," the Doctor spoke softly at the end. Sam's face constricted as if he had a visual that went very well with this idea and curiously Cas looked slowly at his shoes. Dean was rubbing his temples as if trying to block out the room.

"I need a drink," he grumbled. And the Doctor laughed a true and clear laugh that lightened my soul despite the impending and crushing darkness. Dean smiled and I could see an ease settle between them.

"So we need to get that corporeum out of here before whatever is hunting it catches it," Castiel pressed.

"Seems so, just one problem, we have no idea how to summon it. It just kind of pops up," Sam explained. The Doctor and Cas looked at me simultaneously.

"Me? What has this got to do with me?"

"It has attached to you. There is something about you that reminds the corporeum of home. They dwell in wild forests. Does that mean anything to you?" asked the Doctor.

And suddenly I felt it like white hot fire. About 11 years ago I had gotten my first and last tattoo. It was up the side of my calf; a bare old oak tree with intricate etchings in the bark. The etchings were from an art piece I loved and had had the artist add to the trunk. I reached down to my boots and pulled off my left one. I rolled up the edge of my jeans to my knees so the ink was clearly visible.

"That makes sense," the Doctor mumbled as he swooped closer to me to study the design. "Where did you see those symbols?" he asked looking directly into my eyes.

"A painting from India by an artist about 80 years ago. They were markings on a scroll laying on a table and I have always thought they were beautiful…" I rubbed my thumb carefully over the delicate swirls and slashes of the markings. They brought me an unexplainable peace and purpose.

"Quiet beautiful. Seems we aren't the first to have met a corporeum. Those markings are symbols from a language spoken by few. It originated in the forest of the corporeum. I am not as fluent in it as I used to be but I believe it talks about light, about a beacon of light that bridges the void. I've never heard of such a thing…" As he turned away, his brows furrowed with concern. It wasn't reassuring to think an undying Time Lord was stumped.

"Well sitting here isn't doing anyone any good. We need to get somewhere safe to hash this out. It is about a day and a half to the bunker but that is the safest place I can think of, especially since we have no clue what is hunting us," Dean said looking seriously from one face to another, finishing with his eyes on mine.

"Quite right! Except for the day and a half piece. I can get us there much quicker," the Doctor said pacing toward the front door. Both Sam and Dean instinctively flinched backwards, which caused the Doctor's eyes to glitter in a mischievous way. "Oh not like that, I have a much smoother ride," he smiled from ear to ear.

"I'm not just leaving Baby out front," Dean snapped shaking his head.

"No need, there's plenty of room. What's say you all go wait in the car and I will come pick you up?" Before anyone could respond he dashed from the room heading who knows where. We sat there for a moment or so before awkwardly shuffling into the Impala. I settled into the backseat next to Castiel. He seemed to still be processing his interactions with the Time Lord. After a moment or so he turned to look at me and smiled. His smile was so genuine and kind that all I could do was stare at his face. After a moment Sam cleared his throat, "So we just wait and…" Before Sam could finish his thought a loud grinding, whirring sound surrounded the car. Both boys jerked their heads around looking for the source of the sound. Cas's smile got bigger, if that was even possible.

As the sound died down, a room had materialized around the Impala. There was a tall glowing center console in a larger organically shaped room.. The room was built of metal and glass and light. Circular ports covered the external wall and far to the left was a simple wooden door. We all slowly opened the doors and stepped into the room of sound and light.

"Welcome to the TARDIS!" The Doctor popped up behind the center console and grinned warmly as he welcomed us to what I assumed is his ship. I wondered about that blue box…

"Where was this parked?" Sam asked, spinning his head around to take in the sights and sounds of the space ship.

Castiel slowly walked over to the plain wooden door and softly pushed it open. Through the gap you could see the run down house we had just walked away from, which meant the ship we were in was parked just where the Impala had been. I shuffled over to the opening to poke my head out and glance at the ship.

Grace abounding, I tripped over the entry port of the TARDIS and fell on my backside in the middle of the gravel and weed strewn driveway. As I sat, I stared up at a dirty blue police box that looked like it landed out of the 1950's. Without bothering to stand up, I edged around the side of the box and continued around it on my hands and knees. As I approached the front door I looked inside and saw Castiel, Dean, Sam and the Doctor standing around the Impala inside this police box.

"It's smaller outside…" I said looking past the side of the box again. The Doctor chuckled to himself as the brothers scurried over to check out the ship. They walked around it multiple times before reboarding the ship shaking their heads in disbelief. I sat on the edge of the door, staring back and forth between the inside and outside trying to understand how this was even possible.

A few hours later I was sitting in a large library that smelled like wood oil and loved books sipping on a strong cup of coffee with a heavy helping of cream. The Doctor had pulled some more levers and that metal, wood and who knows what else box had flown halfway across the country and landed in an underground bunker. The brothers said it belonged to this group called the Men of Letters, of which they were Legacies. They seemed decently disturbed that the Doctor just flew in and parked the TARDIS neatly behind the kitchen. He just smirked as he strolled through the halls and rooms of the bunker.

Each of the men went his own way; consumed in their thoughts. The Doctor was exploring rooms full of books and jars and boxes, with an occasional small explosion or weird wailing emitting from the room he was in. Sam dug into piles and piles of old and new books, looking for some sort of information about what we were facing. The Doctor had dumped a few books of his own on the well oiled mahogany tables before exploring. Sam had poked through some of those but seemed to need the aid of other books to even decipher them.

Castiel was helping Dean dig through the files that the Men of Letters kept on anything they felt was associated with the extraterrestrial. This was proving to be frustrating because even the Men of Letters didn't have much cohesive information on the subject.

Feeling useless and a little overwhelmed I had gravitated toward the kitchen. In all these piles and strange stories, this was something safe and familiar so I putted around the kitchen brewing a strong pot of coffee. I found enough bits of this and that to throw together something for us to snack on. Carrying a tray stacked with cups, coffee, condensation coated bottles, chips, bowls and various dips back toward the library, I stepped carefully up the few steps into the room.

"This doesn't make any sense. The Men of Letters have been around for a pretty good chunk of time yet they have squat. I mean the files and stories have gaps and just don't make sense," Dean was sifting through boxes of dusty half full files with visible frustration on his face.

"Not surprising - it isn't time for humanity to embrace the idea of other. I mean demons and ghosts and angels - sure! But aliens - that is the bridge too far!" the Doctor chuckled to himself as he strolled back into the library.

Dean noticed me siddle my way into the library and set the heavy tray down on the edge of the table. He smiled as he grabbed a bottle; pulling the cap off with a twist and taking a long swig. The others slowly made their way over to the food, grabbing cups and bottles and scooping dips out of the bowls. We munched and sipped in silence for a few minutes.

"Thank you Joce," Castiel said, even though he hadn't touched the food. I held out the cup of coffee I had been holding to cool to him and he politely shook his head.

"Angels don't eat but thank you," he smiled.

"Yeah thanks," the other three chimed in between bites and slurps.

"What could be hunting me?" My knowledge of the "the bumps in the night", as the Doctor had said, was still limited to ghosts until told otherwise.

"Well, that is a list that is longer than you probably care to hear," Sam said with sympathy in his eyes. Shifting his gaze to the Doctor, "Are there any details or observations that you can give us that would help narrow the focus?"

"I wish I had more to go on. I know it was corporeal. But it's fast, whatever it is. I only glimpsed it for a second or so. But it oozed some kind of power. Not something I have felt - at least not that I can remember," he ran his hands through his hair, the frustration at his lack of information clear.

"But you did see it?" Castiel questioned.

"Only for a moment. Just a shape - very human looking so not very helpful."

The conversation continued with questions about where he had seen it, what time of day and time of year he had seen it, and many other things that didn't make sense to me but did to the boys.

Each clicking away on a laptop, they started pulling weather records, police reports, haunting websites, anything that related to a place or time that the Doctor provided information on.

I wasn't entirely sure what to do. Having no clue what they were looking for, I couldn't research anything. The Doctor bounced back and forth between the screens of the boys, answering questions and pointing out leads. Castiel leafed through a thick text that dealt with the effect of solar shifts on the supernatural.

After I finished my coffee, I cleaned up the dishes and, not knowing where was safe, returned to the library. I walked along the edge of a bookshelf eyeing the titles there. Many were records books on people or families, some were clearly spell books or counterspell books. Every now and then words like _vampire_ , _werewolf_ , _shifter_ , and _djinn_ appeared on the spines of the old leather bound books. This filled in that gap of what could be hunting me in a small way. Upon reading _demon_ I decided this was not a good use of my time

I shuffled back over to the table covered in files, papers, and open textbooks. Quietly pulling an old yellow steno pad toward me, I grabbed one of the short pencils from the canister in the middle of the table and lost my thoughts in sketches and doodles.

* * *

Unsure of what to do, I had cooked breakfast the following morning. Before leaving the small bare room I had slept in, I neatly made the borrowed bed unlike my bed at home which was a whirlwind of blankets. Although there wasn't a great variety in the way of supplies in the kitchen, I dug up enough to make biscuits, potatoes and some eggs. Cooking grounded me. I had grown up making dinners with my parents and even if it sometimes made me sad, scooping and stirring and sauteing was safe, comforting, familiar. That was something I really needed right now.

As I was pulling the biscuits out of the oven, which had been much cleaner than I expected, my elbow caught on the counter behind me and I slammed the tray hard, grumbling and rubbing my sore funny bone.

"JOCE?" Sam shouted as he ran into the kitchen from the room he had been digging through. His gun was at his side. He stood for a moment in the doorway, just staring around.

"Sammy? Joce?" Dean entered the kitchen more slowly but I noticed his pearl handled gun at his side as well. He adopted the same deer-in-the-headlights face that his brother had on. Suddenly I was very aware that I had dived into their kitchen without permission and started mumbling apologies as I wiped up the counter.

"I should have asked. I'm sorry…"

Sam quickly closed the distance between the door and the counter.

"No Joce, thank you. I can't… I don't remember the last time I have had a homemade breakfast."

"Yeah," and I looked up to see Dean respond with a half-chewed biscuit in his mouth. My body relaxed as I realized it hadn't been anger on their faces. They gathered plates and silverware and jars of this and that from other places in the kitchen. I carried the hot trays and plates over to the small white table, placing them on worn brown pot holders.

Before the potatoes made it to the table, they were both piling their plates high with food. I set the skillet on the last potholder and Dean grabbed the spoon before I had pulled my hand back to pile the golden bits onto his plate. We ate in silence for a few minutes, only pausing to sip too hot coffee and tart, slightly expired orange juice.

After the eggs were gone and the biscuits had become honey and jam covered desserts, Dean broke the silence.

"Okay, you can stay if you show me how to make these," and he popped half a honey soaked biscuit into his mouth. I smiled and looked down at the tan surface of my cup. If only…

"Joce, I think that maybe you should stay," Sam said slowly, setting down his glass. My eyes flew to his.

"I mean you don't have to but we don't really know what is after you so we can't even tell you how to protect yourself. But here you are protected from most things. And we can give you space and everything I just…"

"I would like that," I tried to use a voice that didn't gush with the gratitude I felt. Truth be told, I was scared. I didn't know a fraction of what these boys did and if they couldn't figure out what it was, I didn't really feel like I stood a chance. Even though I didn't really know the boys either, I trusted them. I guess that is what a near-death experience will do for you. Besides, it's not like I had anything to race home to.

The ease that settled between the boys made me feel like I had just solved a problem they had discussed earlier.

"Is there any way I could get some things from home, like clothes?" I asked after draining my mug. Then I remembered what they had said about the distance and turned pink.

"I thought I smelled chips!" As if he had been waiting just behind the door, the Doctor popped into the kitchen, grabbed a clean plate from near the sink, and took a helping of potatoes and ketchup. Looking sideways at the Doctor, then back at me, Dean smiled like he had figured out a great plan.

* * *

About half an hour later, Sam and I stood in the center of the TARDIS, clinging to the railing, anticipating a bumpy ride similar to the one the night before. The Doctor jogged here and there throwing levers before we heard the soft thud meaning the TARDIS had landed. Sam had insisted that Dean stay behind in case Cas popped in with news and the relief that had washed over Dean's face told me that was an answered prayer.

I walked over to the door and gave it a soft push. The feeling of stepping out of a space travelling, time travelling police box into everything you have ever known was a surreal one. That might explain why it took me a moment to notice the place was in shambles.

"Sam!" He hurried into the room and stood close to me, staring around my apartment. Couches and chairs were toppled. Everything that could be smashed or thrown looked like it had been. Drawers were emptied and there was a weird smell hanging in the room.

"Looks like we were just in time," the Doctor added as he stepped out into the chaos.

"Better be quick," Sam said looking at me and pulling the dagger at his waist loose. I didn't need to be told twice as I jogged into my bedroom. I pulled the red suitcase from under my bed and then froze as I flung it open. There was this strange, almost eerie rippling just under my skin that I would never set foot here again. Although I pushed it away, that thought hung in the back of my mind and guided my hand as I hastily threw my life into a bag. After a few handfuls of clothing and essential toiletries, I down deep under my bed, I pulled out an old brown paper wrapped box and tucked it into my bag. I flitted around gathering my laptop, chargers, my locket, and a few other items that I barely thought about.

A few minutes later, I wheeled the small red bag into the living room where Sam and the Doctor had been poking around. Sam was near the window behind the couch and looked up, holding out a dirty hand.

"Sulphur," he said referencing the stain on his hand. "But it is weird. There are blue crystals mixed in it, I have never seen that before."

As if on cue, the front door opened and a slick haired, darkly dressed man stood there.

"TARDIS! Now!" the Doctor shouted, flinging the door open beside him. I ran the few feet between my door and the TARDIS, not stopping till I was several feet in. Sam was close behind me and the Doctor came last, quickly but calmly closing and locking the TARDIS door.

"Quick! Go!" Sam said anxiously.

"Relax, those doors are essentially impregnable. We have time," the Doctor spoke casually as he walked to the center console.

Suddenly a large crash shook the sides of the TARDIS and the room shook ever so slightly.

"No need to tarry however," he mused as his pace quickened and he threw the levers that brought the machine to life.


End file.
